


Delicate

by Gyre_and_Gimble



Series: Bedside Manners [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Dark Character, Lady Ashbury Bashing, Morally Ambiguous Character, Savage Jonathan Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyre_and_Gimble/pseuds/Gyre_and_Gimble
Summary: How the conversation in the tent with Lady Ashbury should have gone.
Series: Bedside Manners [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094597
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Vixen: (noun) a female fox;  
> (informal) a spirited or fierce woman

Lady Ashbury is, as Edgar says, impossibly delicate.

Her situation, her demeanor, and her sensibilities all seem to share this quality, this _delicateness_. Jonathan can’t decide if she puts him more in mind of a bird, all pretty noise and hollow bones, or a fox. Perhaps it’s her red hair. Jonathan can’t help but wonder if there’s a part of him prejudging her as cunning or deceptive, for it.

Time tells him this prejudgment is correct.

She told him when he set out for Whitechapel tonight that she was sure of his discretion, but that this errand to find her blackmailer would test all his skills of persuasion. In the end, he’d needed very little in the way of persuasive competence to reach an accord with Nurse Crane. Jonathan had suspected that Lady Ashbury would not have taken her continued employment at the Pembroke very well, and so he suggested that Dorothea surrender her post while continuing to run her dispensary and assist Whitechapel’s poor. With Jonathan’s continued and generous patronage, he thinks that, between Pembroke Hospital and the dispensary, the east of London may actually stand a fighting chance against this virulent plague.

Since Lady Ashbury, according to Edgar, is herself a philanthropist, Jonathan expects that learning of the charitable purpose to which her blackmailer applies her ill-gotten funds would soften Lady Ashbury’s outlook.

He is wrong.

He learns that he is wrong when he catches Lady Ashbury in the act of feeding on a patient.

She bares her teeth and hisses at him, before producing a scandalized gasp and turning away. By the time she has wiped her chin and turned back to face Jonathan with a scowl, he feels his own teeth itching for release as a righteous fury roars to life in his chest.

“It is rude to stare,” she says – as if Jonathan has caught her in a _hat shop_ , instead of sucking the lifeblood from a dying man. Her eyes are pale and green, and Jonathan can’t help that he feels they resemble nothing so much as resentful shards of sea glass. “Speak up, Dr. Reid. I like a man who speaks his mind.”

Jonathan seethes. “He trusted you. He trusted you, and you _killed_ him.”

He cannot discern whether the sickly feeling that swells in his chest is the beast inside, or merely his deep and abiding reproach for those who use the cover of providing care for their own ends, rather than _actually_ _providing care_ to people who need it.

Lady Ashbury may not herself be a doctor, but as one who administers care to patients in a hospital – no matter how unofficial her capacity – she, like Jonathan, has a responsibility to the patients at Pembroke.

“Spare me your sarcasm, Jonathan. You are but newly born in this world.”

His Lady seeks sarcasm?

Then she shall have it.

Jonathan draws himself up and gazes at the woman before him. “Well, we are vampires, my Lady. We survive by leeching blood from weaker prey, do we not?” His smile feels cruel, and if the twitch in Lady Ashbury’s forehead is any indication, it looks about the same. “We are Darwin’s next chapter – his cynical and perhaps ultimate expression. What is the loss of one sickly human’s life in the face of this… unnatural, natural selection?”

Does he believe it? He isn’t sure – he hasn’t really given much thought to the vampire’s place in the taxonomy of the human species. He’s only been undead a handful of days and has been rather occupied.

Strangely, Lady Ashbury goes on for some time, despite the progress of their (admittedly tense) conversation, about how _awkward_ this is, for her – how she’s so carefully and successfully hidden her immoral feeding practices for decades, curtly begs his excuse for her agitated state, wouldn’t normally let anyone see her like this.

Jonathan could not possibly care less about his Lady’s discomfort or embarrassment. Not now. Not after everything he’s seen, tonight.

He elects to conclude their conversation as quickly as possible, lest he find _himself_ in an “agitated” emotional state. “I must confess I have not put an end to the blackmail, my Lady,” he says. “Unfortunately, I could not bring myself to do it.”

Surely, she will understand. She is asking for so much understanding herself, after all, and she seems to care a great deal what Jonathan thinks of her.

Jonathan is wrong a second time, tonight.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Jonathan. I didn’t expect this from you.”

… Perhaps if he explains.

“Lady Ashbury, you yourself admitted how ridiculous the sum of money was. I can assure you, it was all used for charitable ends.”

Surely, this will appease the good Lady. Surely, as the hospital’s primary – perhaps only – benefactor, she cannot help but –

“Well, you are full of surprises, aren’t you, Jonathan?!”

Jonathan is perplexed.

A trauma surgeon with a history of military service, he is reasonably sure that he is able to maintain a stern but carefully blank expression, though it is a near thing.

Lady Ashbury is still speaking and is still obviously displeased. “Alright, say I trust you - but you must still pay the ransom. That is only fair; after all, it was _you_ who failed to bring this problem to a satisfactory conclusion.”

Jonathan considers agreeing, if only to escape this conversation. He can imagine saying, _I believe I could agree to that_ , and moving on.

He does not say that.

Instead, he says, “Lady Ashbury, let me see if I’m understanding you correctly:

“You leveraged your relationship with Dr. Swansea to compel the assistance of a newborn vampire who is, for reasons as yet unclear to me, somehow better equipped than my Lady to resolve this matter.” He pauses long enough to let his words sink in but not long enough to permit a reply. “You directed me to put a stop to the blackmail without, as you say, ‘eating’ the person responsible. I can assure you that I did no such thing, though I am now little inclined to share any further information from my investigation with you.”

She looks as if she would like to say something, and it really is terribly rude of him, but there is a drum pounding in Jonathan’s chest whose march he cannot deny. “I have, admittedly, failed in my task according to the letter of it. In spirit, however, I can assure you that all I have done, I have done with the best interest of this city at heart.

“Furthermore,” Jonathan continues, stepping closer so that he might prevent anyone overhearing, “I have just returned to find that the accusations of your blackmailer are true: you are, indeed, exsanguinating the patients at this hospital.”

“You forget your place, newborn,” Lady Ashbury hisses, though she manages to keep her teeth hidden. “You are as yet too young and inexperienced to understand the gravity of your defiance, so allow me assist you in grasping its consequences.”

_This ought to be good,_ Jonathan thinks.

“I am the elder vampire in this territory,” she says, eyes gleaming, “and as such it is my right to demand fealty from those Ekons who are my younger.”

“And lesser?” Jonathan suggests.

At this, the Lady seems to regain herself somewhat, saying with a huff and a pout, “I do so dislike speaking of things in these terms, Jonathan, but you must understand: your ability to abide by the customs and traditions of our kind are paramount to your survival. In failing to protect me, you are putting this entire borough at risk.”

At this, Jonathan chuckles darkly.

“I see – so this is a vampire’s fiefdom, then, your ladyship? And I, your vassal? I fail to do your bidding, and now I must surrender due compensation, is that right? Pay your tithes?”

Lady Ashbury says, low and harsh, “Jonathan, _please_. There is no need –”

“And this,” Jonathan persists, gesturing broadly, “is this the royal forest of Pembroke? Am I permitted only to shoot so many of my Lady’s deer, or face the consequences?”

He presses forward into the tent, until he is directly below its peak and the ill-tempered vixen before him is backed against the small supply cabinet. The flash of fear that is well-concealed behind his Lady’s defiance satisfies something dark inside of him.

“If, as this hospital’s benefactor, you would find it difficult to continue your… arrangement, knowing that I am on the staff, I will be only too happy to resign.”

When Lady Ashbury’s expression grows momentarily plaintive, as if she is ready to argue or, better, _plead_ her case, Jonathan is buoyed on a wave of predatory satisfaction.

Having finished his piece, Jonathan takes a conciliatory step back to give the lady some room. Her face is a perfect porcelain mask as she says, graceful but grudging, “Well. Let it never be said that Dr. Jonathan Reid lacks a spine.”

Victory makes Jonathan gracious. “I have only just returned from the front, my Lady. I don’t believe the integrity of my spine was ever in question.”

Lady Ashbury composes herself, folds her hands daintily - _delicately_ \- and greets Jonathan anew with a stiff smile. “And because a lady always honors her promises, I will now answer any questions you may have.”

Jonathan Reid is a civil man, generally.

He is not a _nice_ man.

And he does not feel especially compelled to start _being_ nice to Lady Ashbury.

He steps back, and with a little bow says to her, “Pleasant though that sounds, I believe I will seek out Dr. Swansea for questions I may have about our shared condition.”

The mask cracks, and Jonathan can almost _taste_ the incredulous outrage he sees beneath it.

“And please,” he says before leaving the tent, “don’t concern yourself with the details: as your vassal, I will be happy to arrange a death certificate for the man you’ve just slain. You’ll forgive me if it takes me some time, as I have some surgeries to attend – since Dr. Swansea hired me on as head surgeon, and not your errand boy.”

Jonathan smiles as he exits the tent, all the more broadly as thunder crashes and the rain intensifies. He passes by and speaks briefly with Nurse Branagan and with Milton, bidding them both a pleasant evening and offering his assistance, where needed.

Jonathan Reid is not a nice man.

He isn’t a nice vampire, either.


End file.
